


Rose-tinted Glaz

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Did I mention pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holding Hands, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Past Sexual Abuse, Pining, Semi-Open Ending, Unrequited Crush, help him there's so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: When Maverick joins Rainbow, he's not at all what Glaz expected in that he's mostly nondescript. And when they get to know each other better, he's not at all what Glaz expected in that he actuallylikeshim.





	Rose-tinted Glaz

Glaz is not a coward. He’s killed men while looking directly into their eyes, he’s endangered his own life for the sake of a mission or a civilian or a friend; he’s not afraid to go into battle. Sometimes, he hesitates, yes, but it’s human nature to think twice before sacrificing themselves – besides, he’s in Rainbow because he’s _meant_ to always look for another option, consider whether there’s a solution which doesn’t require loss of life on their side. Part of his family calls him brave and regards him with sparkling eyes full of admiration and though he now and then forgets how special it is to be able to work for Six, when he recalls the lives of his childhood friends or college friends, he realises once again that comparing himself to no one but his colleagues is unfair to himself.

So no. He wouldn’t call himself a coward. But he does learn from mistakes.

And if doing the same thing three times because his heart was overflowing and his mind bursting and his stomach fluttering though he didn’t know how to deal with any of it and the only way out he saw was allowing it all to fall from his lips – if letting this happen led to jeers or an untruthful acceptance followed up by a beating he can still feel in his bones, if it invited grimacing and slurs and open avoidance, then it’s only natural for him to stop doing it. This is obviously not what he’s meant to do, and therefore he’s given up since, hoping to find another way.

All of this happened before Rainbow so when he joins, he’s careful. Rook has to painstakingly extract his preference from him, only to declare that he knew already afterwards and wanted to hear it from Glaz himself; but to his surprise, all he’s met with is approval, support and a reassuring kind of indifference implying he’s not a freak. Not depraved. Not gross. It soothes something, lulls him into a false sense of security because he wasn’t aware that letting go of harmful, internalised thoughts brought a whole bunch of other problems. Accepting himself came with a price.

Fuze is strong, gruff and inexplicably takes a liking to him. It might be that he’s pliant, adapts easily and is looking for friends anyway, so he moulds himself to Fuze’s wishes until he becomes used to him – one of the ways Glaz has identified to solidify a friendship: be useful. As long as people have a need for him, they’re less likely to discard him. Fuze tells him vulgar jokes and chuckles darkly, he lets Glaz sit next to him in the workshop as long as he draws in silence and he gossips with him. He’s someone who’s just _cool_ and Glaz does his best to spend as much time as possible with him, listening to him ramble on about something or other, even preferring his company to Rook’s. Despite Rook being upbeat, optimistic, friendly and loyal as a dog.

When he realises why he’s so fixated on Fuze, why he’s so desperate for his attention and every smile he gets, why his eyes keep seeking him out, he recoils in horror. He’s heard Fuze talk about Rook and how he openly dates men and he _knows_ Fuze would react confused and hurt and maybe even disappointed if he told him about himself. So he doesn’t. He’s learnt his lesson. No more telling.

Instead, he bottles it up.

It takes about a year for him to get over it. Fuze isn’t aware of his inner turmoil and invites him out for drinks if they haven’t met up for a while because he knows Glaz never says no. He has no idea it’s because Glaz loves the way his teammate clings to him after a long evening. He hasn’t learnt to say no yet, only says no to himself whenever he wants something, and so every time Fuze’s warm arms wrap around his torso, he’s filled with the overpowering desire for _more_ , more touching, holding his hand, making him smile only for him. He keeps suffering from withdrawal and relapses. And when he does, he gains nothing but a dull ache from it.

The next time, he stays away. Sledge is one of the most sensible people he’s ever met, he carries himself with dignity and never minces his words, meaning every compliment he gives is heartfelt and genuine. He’s remarkably authentic and competent, and so when they’re assigned to a mission together which goes off without a hitch, a mission on which they end up talking alone a few times, Glaz’ heart _throbs_ and his mind panics and his stomach cramps and he treasures every nice word directed at him and distances himself immediately upon their return. He doubts Sledge even notices, their conversations weren’t deep enough to imply a closer friendship and yet they’ve carved themselves into his soul.

More bottling.

Sledge is wonderful. His smile is stunning, his skill to solve problems unmatched and his attentiveness heartwarming. Glaz watches as Sledge subtly plays matchmaker for two of his teammates, visibly satisfied with the result when they end up snapping together like magnets; he watches as Sledge, Hibana and Blitz huddle together to devise new incentives and challenges for Rainbow so no boredom comes up; and he watches how he pays extra attention to people who took their recent mission hard. Glaz watches his every move and daydreams about talking to him, about being the sole focus of his calm gaze and almost feels guilty for how much he wants it. It’s all he does, however. He watches and he _wants_.

There was more, of course, it’s almost as if he enjoys emotional pain – to an uninvolved onlooker it must seem exactly like that’s the case. In a desperate attempt to sate his craving for physical affection (because everything else is too complicated), he very nearly sleeps with Thermite. It’s an absolute one-time thing, they’re both drunk and lonely, cracking self-deprecating jokes which stray a little too far into dangerous territory and then there’s a proposition between them, an implied willingness on both sides and for a second all he thinks is _why not_? But then his mind slowly fills with scenarios, either waking up alone or, worse, waking up next to Thermite and watching him sleep with a smile, watching him go back to his normal life as if none of it mattered which it probably didn’t to him, except Glaz is now watching him laugh about something with Pulse and wishing it was him who made him laugh. And so he declines.

He’s not very successful in anything he tries to do in this regard so he’s stopped trying. He’s not a coward, he doesn’t fear rejection.

He has come to expect it.

 

So why is it that he’s here, now, staring at the dark door illuminated only by a street light, his skin overheated and itching, his thoughts buzzing? Why does he hope for something different this time, why did he even come here in the first place? He knows how it’s going to go down, has seen it all enough times.

Ultimately, he can attempt to blame his two best friends and flatmates for pushing him this far, egging him on, though that’s not really what they did, is it? They were both lost in their own little world for which he can hardly fault them, harbouring no ill intentions towards him whatsoever. And yet they undoubtedly contributed to his presence here, now.

He’s been here before even though it was only two or three times, he can’t recall, but he remembered the way. As if he knew he’d eventually need it. It’s a relatively open apartment complex allowing for Glaz to simply walk up to this one fateful door as if it was mocking him: _See how deceptively easy it is?_

His heart is racing despite there being no goal for it to reach and his fingers are clammy. Clothes are normally not a concern for him but suddenly he’s hyperaware of how he must look, bedraggled and tired, possibly with bags under his eyes and the kind of hair he gets when sweat dried in it. It doesn’t really matter, _can’t_ matter or else he’s never going to do this.

And he is. He feels it in his chest which has never seemed this constricting. The floor tilts slightly under his feet. He’d better get on with it. Someone needs to hear what he has to say.

Glaz reaches out and presses the doorbell.

 

~*~

 

Maverick slips Valkyrie’s pen into his sleeve, unseen and so astonishingly casually that Glaz at first doesn’t understand what his eyes are telling him. The gesture looks so natural he genuinely doubts his own senses for a moment but no, Valkyrie _did_ have a pen and now it’s gone. Confused, his gaze snaps up to the newcomer’s face, possibly looking for an explanation, and he’s met with amusement dancing in light blue irises. Maverick’s lips don’t give away much but what confirms all which Glaz believes to have seen is the sly wink before the American opposite him inconspicuously puts a finger up to his mouth, indicating for him to stay quiet.

The meeting continues just like normal, except Glaz is unable to concentrate now, too hung up on Maverick simply _stealing_ one of his colleagues’ pen. The whole thing is a mystery to him, fascinates him irrationally to the point where he just stares at slim fingers as if he was daring them to repeat their action. Still, he’s operating mostly on autopilot and so when Ash asks for them to direct their gazes towards the new slide, his attention is invariably drawn towards the front – yet he still catches subtle movement at the edge of his vision. It’s the perfect moment to nick something else, the distraction works in Maverick’s favour as Glaz would never suspect anything if he hadn’t previously seen the man swipe something unnoticed. Glaz keeps his gaze on Ash but instead focuses on his peripheral vision where Valkyrie is currently looking around, clearly searching for something.

Maverick throws her an inquisitive glance and she mimes writing something, so he hands her a pen. So far, so good. Not a minute later, Ying – seated on Maverick’s other side – points at the pen Valkyrie’s holding and frowns. “That’s mine”, she whispers and at this point, Glaz is fighting a grin. Valkyrie returns Ying’s and continues looking around for her own, even going so far as to check the floor which is, surprisingly, _not_ when Maverick puts hers back, probably because now people’s attention is shifting to the restless Seal. He waits a bit longer before he surreptitiously places it directly next to Valkyrie’s tattooed arm and then indicates it with a friendly, questioning expression.

The utterly confused and frustrated look on Valkyrie’s face is too much for Glaz who by now is inexplicably beaming at Ash and probably looking like an idiot, judging by Rook’s concern aimed at him from the other end of the room.

If he’s honest, after hearing about the two newest additions to Rainbow, Glaz was a little disappointed upon seeing Maverick in person. Clash was every bit as imposing as what few details he gathered beforehand – when she enters a room, the atmosphere shifts, people sit up straighter and become more aware of their surroundings. It’s neither a purely good nor bad thing as she seems to polarise people’s opinions, some reacting with admiration or simple respect and politeness, others by avoiding her or even gossiping. She’s intense and a little too serious for Glaz’ tastes but there already are quite a few people with whom she gets along well, so he’s content in watching her from afar.

Maverick, on the other hand… he pales next to her. In fact, he pales next to a lot of people seeing as he’s friendly but a tad reserved, just the kind of personality which never offends, doesn’t really stick out and prefers letting others do the talking. He’s indiscriminately polite but instinctively knows when to turn it off and so Bandit and he spent a few minutes gruffly circling each other and dropping semi-insulting remarks before deciding the other poses no real threat. If anything, he sticks out by not sticking out at all which isn’t what Glaz expected after having heard about his feats, almost waiting to come into contact with a potentially broken person, someone who slinks around. In short: a spook. Instead, he met an amicable American who shook his hand with a warm smile and first asked him to repeat his nickname so he could pronounce it correctly, before refusing to call him Glaz and instead opting for Timur – a name with which he seemed much more comfortable.

Since then, a week has passed and while Maverick still gets riddled with questions which are a little too direct, his presence – unlike Clash’s – has become normal and him entering a room turns no heads anymore. It takes Glaz embarrassingly long until he understands, he even needs to overhear Bandit muttering ‘he’s fucking _good_ ’ before realising that it’s exactly what Maverick’s supposed to do: not draw attention. Glaz feels sheepish about not realising sooner because it’s similar to what he himself does. He’s long understood that by being a good listener, people will seek him out and tell him their secrets on their own – most people enjoy talking about themselves and if they feel safe, they disclose a surprising amount of information. Glaz doesn’t abuse their trust unless there’s cause for concern but he has to admit he relishes the faith others put in him.

He can see how this type of behaviour is advantageous in a foreign country riddled with threats.

Even so, he hasn’t interacted much with the newcomers apart from a few short, professional talks with Clash and a variety of things he overheard or actively eavesdropped on about Maverick. Which is why he’s delighted now to be privy even to a small thing like this, to knowing that Maverick does have a sense of humour after all. It opens up potential for proper conversation just between the two of them and thus he finds it hard to concentrate on the rest of the meeting.

Once it’s over, he’s pleased to see Maverick actually lingers, waiting for him with the hint of a mischievous smile and so Glaz motions for Rook to leave on his own, to which his friend simply nods. “That’s an impressive sleight of hand”, Glaz states not without admiration in his voice. “Can you do magic tricks too?”

“No, I’m afraid my skills are only good for plain old stealing”, Maverick replies with a grin and then indicates a group which formed on the other side of the table. “Also, I meant to ask – what was his name again?” Glaz follows his gaze but isn’t sure whom he means, so Maverick puts a hand on his back and angles him in the right direction. “The one who looks like he bit into a lemon.”

At this, Glaz laughs because it’s instantly clear. “You mean Shuhrat. Don’t worry about calling him Fuze, most people do because his -” He trails off when Maverick hands him something which he recognises as his own wallet but doesn’t process what happened right away.

“You’re observant but not observant _enough_ ”, the American informs him cheekily.

Glaz pushes his wallet back into his pocket, trying to remember if he felt any odd touches but comes up empty. “Or you’re just a very talented pickpocket.”

“Or both. I’d appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself though.”

He nods easily. “I can keep secrets, don’t worry. As long as you don’t do anything malicious, my lips are sealed. Don’t mess with Ryad’s stuff though, he’s often out of it due to lack of sleep anyway, so it’d make him go insane.” His tone is light but Maverick easily spots the worry hidden behind it and agrees seriously enough to convince Glaz he’s nowhere near as bad of a prankster as Bandit.

“Noted. Do you have time to grab a bite to eat? I’d like to talk to you a little more.”

Oh. That’s surprising.

His astonishment must show because Maverick’s face lights up in amusement but what the American doesn’t know is that Glaz is used to being overlooked. He doesn’t mind, his ego isn’t inflated to a point where he feels the need to be the centre of attention, instead he actually prefers being left alone most of the time. In missions, he rarely wavers and possesses a determination often surprising to those who know him from his down time, but he’s received ample training for countering terrorists – none, however, on how to be interesting to a group of people. He’s skilled in fighting but not in fighting for the floor, so he usually drifts along the edges of conversations, unless it’s with his friends. Regardless, he’s long accepted the fact he’s not intriguing enough for new additions to Rainbow, didn’t blink twice at Maestro, Alibi and Lion ignoring him and therefore cherished the friendly interactions with Finka. So Maverick outright telling him he wants to talk comes out of nowhere.

“Sure, but – is there a specific reason?”

“No, I’m just curious. You strike me as someone who knows lots and says little.”

Glaz can’t deny he’s extremely flattered. From what he’s seen, Maverick is an excellent judge of character, yet also someone who knows how to make people _like_ him. So as nice as the compliment is, he can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Are you just trying to get on everyone’s good side?”

A smile which looks slightly guilty. “That too. Again, you’re observant.”

“I’ve seen you get even Echo to talk to you at length. You say whatever people would like to hear, don’t you?” It’s very direct for how little they know each other but it seems his assessment of Maverick was correct – he’s someone who appreciates honesty.

“You’re not wrong. I just have to find whatever it is they’re passionate about and show enough interest to get them to talk.”

Oh, Glaz is very familiar with this. It’s an excellent strategy to make others like him. “You’ll have everyone eating out of your hand in no time.”

“I was actually hoping you’d assist me with it. Seeing as you’ve been here since the beginning and know our colleagues well.”

More flattery and even a simple request for help. People like being asked for their opinion or to lend aid as long as it’s not too much effort – it makes the other person seem like they’re trustworthy and competent enough. He really does know all the tricks. “Alright. Yeah, I can try to. Let’s go to the chip shop down the road then, so no one disturbs us.” While they’re on their way, he touches Maverick’s left wrist. “Do you have a tattoo here? I thought I saw ink.”

Immediately, the American’s demeanour changes as abruptly as if he flicked a switch: his face lights up and his voice becomes _thrilled_. “Yeah! Here, look.” He pulls up his sleeve to expose a tanned arm marked with black lines and flourishes and covered in golden hairs. It’s a map of Afghanistan which would’ve been obvious to Glaz even if he didn’t know of Maverick’s passion for the country in general and its capital in particular.

He points to the Dari script. “Is this Kabul in Arabic?”

“It does say Kabul, but to be precise, it’s Dari – or Dari Persian. Its alphabet is based on Arabic but it’s still very much its own language, although the overlap is large and it’s possible to read Arabic texts just by knowing Dari. There are some letters which don’t -” Maverick stops both talking and walking simultaneously and without warning but Glaz knows exactly why. He turns to him with a wide grin and the feeling of being even: if Maverick thinks he can utilise his tricks on him, Glaz clearly can do the same. Slowly, the other man begins mirroring his expression while shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I think I like you.”

And this, finally, feels like a genuine compliment without any second thoughts or ulterior motives. “You can keep talking though, I’m actually interested”, Glaz offers generously.

The rest of their conversation, which lasts almost an hour due to them forgetting about the time, feels much more natural and less like they’re trying to test each other. They don’t need to anymore.

 

“They’re asking him weird shit again”, Mute says without looking up. He’s still tinkering with the laser weapon he’s so adamant on perfecting that he conks everyone over the head with it who dares call it a glorified laser pointer. In a quiet moment, he admitted to Glaz that’s essentially what it was yet this didn’t give anyone the right to _say_ it. It’s one of the many challenges Jäger and he have running, the exact amount of which has been lost because both of them forget about the majority of them anyway in favour of any new idea they came across.

“Yeah.” Glaz’ gaze has been fixed on the blonde man surrounded by his fellow countrymen and a few others for the past five minutes already. Rook is busy drawing a half-assed portrait of Mira purely because she told him he wouldn’t dare and Twitch is solving maths puzzles for fun, so observing how Maverick’s friendly smile faded a little upon Blackbeard’s arrival, how he leaned back in his chair and how Thermite absent-mindedly moved between the two has been his main source of distraction. He’s long noticed that Blackbeard’s patriotic ideals and Maverick’s fascination with the Middle East clash horribly which is why their interactions are not only strained but often end up as a sort of one-sided pissing contest.

This seems to happen a lot. With Bandit, too, he kept questioning how the American managed to gain as much intel as he did and what exactly he had to do to acquire it, clearly feeling threatened by the inclusion of someone who might be a better undercover agent than he is. Maverick’s humble and easygoing attitude contradicts his heroic CV and either people don’t believe that someone this calm achieved as much as he quite clearly did or they want to make sure his politeness isn’t condescension in disguise. It’s like he invites people to question him or as if he had a large target on his back.

“If James was here, he’d probably be right there with them”, Twitch replies and she’s not wrong. Smoke likes to brag and compete.

“If he was here and harassing the bloke, I’d give him a piece of my mind”, Mute murmurs almost offendedly. “But he’s not and probably won’t be for another two weeks because the White Masks don’t really adhere to any sensible schedule.”

Rook finally looks up from what would probably be a masterpiece were he two years old. “Who’s asking what?”

Glaz indicates the Americans and watches Rook’s brows draw together. “They usually want all the morbid details. All the things sensible people wouldn’t really want to remember.”

“Seriously? I’ll go rescue him.” And before anyone can interject, the Frenchman is already up and approaching the group with a jovial smile. He’s on friendly terms with almost everyone in Rainbow, mostly due to his perceived innocence and the fact he can crank his charm up to eleven whenever he needs anything. Jokes aside, he’s one of the most loyal and reliable people Glaz has met in his life, he has unshakeable faith in those around him and serves with a fierce pride second only to his ideals of making the world a better place. This kind of attitude is rare, especially in its purest form, and so he’s well-liked by pretty much anyone. Which sadly means the little shit gets away with a _lot_.

“I haven’t talked to him yet, but he seems nice”, Twitch throws in and momentarily pauses her activity to follow Glaz’ gaze curiously.

“He’s lovely”, he agrees with her and almost misses Mute pausing in whatever it is he’s currently doing. Both his friends turn their attention to him. “What? I chatted with him yesterday after the meeting.”

Whatever it is Mute wants to reply, it gets cut off by Maverick actually appearing by their table, looking slightly confused and with a beaming Rook by his side. “I was just kidnapped, wasn’t I”, the American states quietly and is met by a few amused nods. “Well, I’m not complaining. Thank you.”

“I bet you’re real tired of getting asked about suicide bombers”, Mute addresses him while sounding bored of the topic himself and returning to his task of soldering something odd to something strange, “so we thought you’d rather talk about D&D or Newton’s Second Law or -”

“We’re not talking about D&D again”, Rook cuts in with a pout, “I still can’t believe you killed my familiar.”

“ _You_ killed your familiar. What did you think was going to happen if you send a bird into a volcano?”

“Oh that’s right, you didn’t hear about it yet”, Twitch butts in with a wide grin. “He told me later he wanted a phoenix.”

And just like that, a heated debate breaks out between Rook and Mute with Twitch apparently playing referee, correcting a few exaggerations here and there but mostly keeping them civil. It’s a normal occurrence, especially when at least one of them has something on their mind – and Smoke’s absence does indeed impede Mute’s mood, no matter how much he rejects that fact. It’s crystal clear he misses him and has been pricklier because of it but distractions help – and arguing with Rook is a very effective distraction.

Maverick slides onto the seat next to Glaz and they share a quick smile before continuing to watch the fierce discussion. “May I introduce you to my friends?”, Glaz addresses him quietly, prompting an amused huff.

“I would ask whether they’re always like this but I saw Mute threaten the microwave yesterday.”

Glaz laughs as well now. “I’m rooming with both guys. You can probably imagine how that goes. Also you can just call them by their first names, Mark, Julien and Emmanuelle, or Manu. We only use a few callsigns.”

“And I thought I was so clever choosing one which mostly has my name in it.”

They exchange another smile which gives Glaz enough courage to ask: “What’s your favourite food from Kabul?” He knows Maverick has been pelted with questions as he’s supposed to be an expert, so he doesn’t want to be just another person sating their curiosity, but in this case he’s genuinely intrigued. He enjoys cooking yet hasn’t heard much about Afghan cuisine.

Instantly, Maverick looks conflicted and thrilled simultaneously. “Ah, that’s so hard to answer, there’s _so much_. I love everything okra, but the rice dishes are even better. A lot of them are actually sweet, either the rice or onions are caramelised or they add raisins. The shashlik is really good too. No, wait, I know! They’re mostly reserved for special occasions, but the sugared almonds, nuql, are fantastic. I’m normally not a fan of rose water because it tastes like perfume, but -”

 _He’s so easy_ , Glaz thinks fondly while also taking note of all the new things he should try to make. Maverick is correct in saying that allowing others to talk about their passions causes them to view the interaction as very positive, but even leaving this aside, Glaz enjoys other people’s enthusiasm. Some might find it hard to understand why he’d voluntarily choose to simply listen, but seeing all these battle-weary men and women light up over hobbies no one ever would’ve guessed warms his heart. And so while Maverick rants on about the delicious lamb kebabs and how much he misses proper naan, Glaz keeps up eye contact, nods and prompts him with more questions allowing him to keep talking. He must’ve long noticed how easily Glaz can manipulate him if he so chooses but it seems as if he senses his interest, too. And Glaz really does want to hear what he has to say.

Ultimately, they end up googling recipes for Glaz to use as reference, with Maverick excitedly pointing out the ones which sound the most authentic. He doesn’t have any experience cooking himself but can extrapolate from the ingredients whether it’s close or an adequate substitute or simply an attempt which will indubitably fail at turning out anywhere close to the dishes with which the American is so intimately familiar. They’re halfway into Glaz’ favourite recipes with him praising the borscht his grandmother made when he realises that the commotion next to them has long died down – Rook is back at trying to sketch, Twitch is solving nightmarish puzzles again and Mute keeps them entertained by grumbling about his so-called weapon which is as futuristic as it is non-functional. And yet neither of them are interrupting Glaz’ speech, not even pretending to listen to make it very clear they’re not part of it.

They’re letting him chat with Maverick in peace. He wasn’t even aware of how much he’s enjoying himself up till now though it suddenly hits him so out of the blue that he loses his train of thought momentarily, stops talking for a few seconds while Maverick patiently waits for him to pick it back up, his enticing bright eyes unwaveringly trained on him, a small smile pulling the corners of his mouth upwards in anticipation of the punchline to Glaz’ story.

Maverick actually wants to hear what he has to say. This isn’t just politeness. The other three noticed it too, have decided to leave them be for no reason other than that it’s rare for Glaz to make friends this fast. Twitch even glances up at him with an encouraging nod, indicating she, too, is aware of how well they get along.

And all Glaz thinks is: _oh_. He takes note of Maverick’s relaxed body language, a stark contrast to his slightly defensive one while talking to Blackbeard, registers his half-smile and unbroken gaze and anticipatory silence. And thinks: _oh no_.

 

~*~

 

To say that Maverick becomes a staple in their household over the next two weeks would be a gross exaggeration but he at the very least becomes a regular guest. One day, he just shows up while the three of them are engaged in a fierce battle brought on by excessive moping on the Brit’s part – Rook approached Glaz with a serious face, announcing _we need to do something about Mark_ and subsequently pressing a can of silly string into his hand. They jump Mute as soon as he comes back from grocery shopping and are mid-shriek when the doorbell rings. It says a lot about both Maverick and them that the only reaction on both sides is for him to participate as soon as possible. Rook throws another can in his direction and it’s a miracle they don’t break any of the furniture while diving for cover or blindly running about, arms flailing.

Only after Rook’s pink silly string is empty (with some of it having ended up in his mouth somehow) and Mute almost cracks a rib from giggling and Glaz has run against a doorway twice and Maverick is almost _covered_ in the sticky substance – only then do they stop to inspect the carnage. Because even though their plan to cheer Mute up quite clearly worked, now they have to clean up after themselves. It turns out that Rook invited Maverick over and then _forgot_ but he doesn’t seem to mind getting caught up in their fight and even helps scraping the silly string off the various surfaces before they venture out for an impromptu barbecue at Pulse’s place.

And although Maverick drifts from group to group while there, chats with everyone at least once and manages to slowly drag more and more people onto his side (whichever side that is – Glaz suspects at this point he’s only doing it because he _can_ ), he returns to their flat afterwards and stays up some more together with them, apparently unperturbed by how close they are.

Glaz supposes their friendship is a little unusual with how much time the three roommates spend with each other. Not only do they share a flat but also actively seek each other out a lot of the time, Rook suggesting places to go, Glaz digging up films or series to watch and Mute forcing them to take care of their apartment by doing chores, tidying up or just repairing things. When Glaz cooks, he can usually count on their help or ask them to buy necessary ingredients, and even when there’s nothing going on, they stick together like glue. Despite having a bedroom each, they often keep their door open even when they sleep in case something comes up or to indicate they’re open for a talk. Glaz can’t even count the days where they played card games on his bed until they almost fell asleep on the spot.

Mute’s and Smoke’s relationship hardly interferes with their dynamics as they already were together by the time they moved in – Smoke usually either stays over or kidnaps Mute but even when he’s present, he does nothing to calm them down or intervene in any of their rituals. They’re all familiar enough with each other to not mind him running around shirtless or throwing up into the sink at 4 in the morning.

With Rook… it’s a little different.

Rook’s love life has always been more active yet not necessarily more successful than Glaz’ in that he experiences no problems in picking up guys but usually ends up with the wrong ones. Some bore him to tears, are only interested in one thing (which gets stale after a while too) or alarmingly stupid, others pick fights with his friends out of jealousy or hoping to stake their claim and prove themselves to the Frenchman. Ultimately, he’s never been happy with the ones he dated until Mute one day caught him eyeing up _Blitz_.

Just so there’s no room for misunderstanding: Glaz likes Blitz. He’s caring, funny, worryingly competent at his job and one of the more sensible operators – but that exactly is what makes Rook’s interest in him so surprising. The Frenchman is usually impulsive, quickly distracted and rarely focuses on one person for a longer period of time without them showing any sort of interest in return but the German somehow managed to worm his way into his heart without even realising. At first, Mute and Glaz teased their friend about it, made allusions to daddy issues and whatnot, but as soon as they noticed Rook’s infatuation wasn’t fading, they switched tactics. Because while Blitz wouldn’t have been _their_ first choice for their friend, it was obvious Rook was head over heels without any help in sight and so they did their best to play matchmaker.

Now that they’ve succeeded (after a struggle lasting much longer than necessary due to Blitz first being oblivious, then bewildered and finally exceedingly hesitant), they’re trying to integrate the German into their everyday life despite him meeting a lot of their free time activities with vague alarm. He doesn’t seem to appreciate Mute’s self-built insect killer in the form of a tennis racquet which shocks everything it touches, including the user, nor does he show any enthusiasm for Rook’s cheese ketchup sandwiches, Glaz doodling on all viable surfaces including important paperwork or Mute’s chaotic music. Or Smoke running around shirtless and throwing up into the sink at 4 in the morning, for that matter. Still, he’s slowly beginning to get accustomed to them and the change in Rook’s behaviour from gremlin to ideal boyfriend is less noticeable now than it was at first.

Right now, Glaz is reminded of the trouble Blitz encounters in keeping up with their insane ideas while they’re all building the most elaborate roller coaster possible with what they have on hand for a toy car Rook found on the way back. As usual, he not only picks up but also keeps things he finds on the street (which is how his and Mute’s friendship started) and therefore Maverick is currently raptly listening to Mute explain how much height they probably need for the car to make it through a looping while Glaz and Rook are mainly concerned with constructing said looping.

They order pizza at midnight and curse loudly whenever they have to awkwardly step over everything they constructed in the living room, and an hour later when Rook suggests Maverick just sleep on the couch, he surprisingly agrees. He fits in with them seamlessly, matches Mute’s sarcasm with dry wit, encourages Rook’s every whim and – and he keeps talking to Glaz. No matter how busy it is around them, he seems to always find an excuse to approach him, strike up a conversation and trick him into talking to him at length. He shows an interest in his paintings, shares some observations about their colleagues, asks about his friends. Glaz returns the gesture, talks of his experiences in Rainbow so far, brings up anecdotes. Neither of them talk too much, it’s balanced and respectful and the last time Glaz experienced anything like this was with _Sledge_ and he does not want to go down that path.

Once Mute and Rook have gone to bed, Glaz mentions the things he watched Maverick swipe from Pulse’s place and earns a low chuckle as well as a reveal of his loot. Some of it are just useless objects he stole from people’s pockets because he could but others he apparently plans to return the same way the next day, setting a challenge for himself. Their childish giggling is muffled as to not disturb the other two and the atmosphere in the dimly-lit living room becomes conspiratorial. And somehow so cosy that they only decide to sleep at half past three.

The next time he comes over, they end up falling asleep on Glaz’ bed, courtesy of a long day of physical training and once again staying up too late and he wakes to Maverick breathing softly while curled up on the blanket next to him, Mute and Rook having left for their own rooms some time during the night. It’s pitch black outside, indicating it’s not nearly late enough to warrant getting up and yet Glaz does so anyway, feeling awake and invigorated despite only having slept a few hours. At most.

Careful not to wake anyone else, he sneaks out of his room into the kitchen, closing the door behind him and taking a deep breath. His heart is pumping for some reason and his fingers are itching to do something, so he resolves to be productive and bake. Fortunately for him, they’re so stocked up on all regular ingredients that he encounters no trouble in making a simple cookie dough from scratch while letting his phone quietly play encouraging music. It’s not the first time he’s done this kind of midnight baking and he’s developed an impressive amount of techniques to ensure he’s not disturbing anyone, therefore he kneads the dough himself while singing along, barely audible but loud enough to lift his spirits. Once he’s finished with his current task, he dances around the room, swings cupboards open and slides back and forth, bobbing to the rhythm as he assembles all their baking trays, adorns them with paper and fills them with small blobs of the mixture he’d almost just rather eat raw.

He’s not the greatest cook, still prefers using recipes to help him along and doesn’t possess the confidence to substitute, leave out or add ingredients, let alone play around with the ratios, but he enjoys the process, finds it soothing. Following instructions means he can mostly shut his brain off and maybe daydream instead or mull over things which bother him, problems about which he’s heard and doesn’t yet know how he’d tackle them. In his art, he enjoys the freedom he has in choosing colours and motifs, but when he prepares food, he likes to feel anchored. At night especially it’s grounding, allows for time to himself he can spend without feeling like he’s wasting it, like he’s lazing around.

Another aspect is the fact that he can share the result afterwards, knows it’ll bring a smile to his friends’ faces when they wake up to a batch of relatively fresh cookies. It’s fantastic motivation and a big reason for why he picked up cooking again in the first place – simply because he doesn’t only do it for himself.

The playlist he chose is excellent and full of upbeat songs inviting him to mimic the words and so he’s utterly caught up in letting the simple melodies guide his limbs – so absorbed he notices entirely too late he’s got an audience. He jumps violently as soon as he catches sight of someone out of the corner of his eye, almost drops the tray he’s holding and barely manages to set it down on the hob with a clatter reverberating much too loudly for his liking. “Holy shit”, he breathes and points accusingly at Maverick who’s watching him with a helpless smile, “you – you’re too quiet. Wow. That wasn’t nice.”

“I’m sorry, I would’ve said something sooner but you were too entertaining”, the American replies softly and _oh God_ he must’ve seen him dance and do all sorts of embarrassing things while he thought himself unobserved. Before he can decide on whether he wants to die now or later of mortification, Maverick distracts him: “Don’t worry, I used to think being able to dance along to that fucking Las Ketchup song was the epitome of coolness.”

Glaz is glad for the change of topic (well, not really change but at least they’re not talking about _him_ ) yet frowns at the name. “I don’t think I know that one.”

“Wait, I can show you.” And even though Maverick only just woke up, as indicated by his repeated yawns and suspicious squint, he grabs Glaz’ phone, looks up the song and starts teaching Glaz without a second thought. They end up searching for a variety of videos, imitating the choreography (usually terribly) until they dissolve into giggles. At one point, he almost forgets about the cookies and one batch turns out a little darker than the rest but no one’s going to notice because they eat them still warm while trying to moonwalk. They forget about the time completely and Glaz shows Maverick how to make normal sugar cookies, how to upgrade them, and agrees to a bit of experimentation by adding some brown sugar to the white, mixing dark and white chocolate instead of only using milk, sprinkling in cinnamon and then a few other spices at Maverick’s suggestions. The result is odd but far from bad and they good-naturedly bicker for ten minutes about whose fault it is they didn’t write down the measurements they used.

The door opens just as they’re in the middle of _All the single ladies_ and Mute’s face is absolutely worth the embarrassment. Glaz has to sit down and Maverick scrambles and fails to turn the music off while both of them are unable to utter a single word due to laughing too much.

“Slept well, then?”, Mute asks drily with a pointed look at the vast amount of cookies littering every horizontal surface. “Erik, go the fuck home, and Glaz, go the fuck to sleep. You know you’re gonna whine the whole bloody day if you don’t.”

Sadly, he’s not wrong. Glaz bags a generous amount of baked goods for Maverick to take with him and accompanies him to the door where they exchange a tired, exhilarated and long hug. It just seems like the thing to do after taking dancing lessons together at five in the morning.

When he walks back, exhausted and yawning so hard tears form in his eyes, Mute takes one look at him and states: “Mate, you’re so fucked and you don’t even know it.”

“Hey, I’m going to sleep right now”, Glaz defends himself with another yawn and earns no more than a shake of the head.

 

It doesn’t click until a few days later, when Maverick appears on their doorstep at eleven in the evening for no reason other than to hang out – he’s welcomed with open arms, roped into whatever insanity they got going that evening and sleeps over once again.

Glaz has to wake up, open his eyes and be confronted with the soft features of someone who’s become so familiar over such a short time, has to examine the short, inviting beard, gently curved lips which are usually stretched into a smile when he sees him, needs to be no more than twenty centimetres away from this good-looking, mischievous, easygoing man to realise.

To realise how well and truly fucked he really is.

While he watches him sleep peacefully, hair turned golden from the early morning sun falling into the room and painting a bright stripe over Maverick’s cheek, his heart seizes, his chest constricts and the impulse to reach out and touch him is fierce. It’s like paint on water, he’s scared to disturb the sharp, well-defined and untouchable image yet intrigued nonetheless, curious to see what the resulting swirls and ripples would display instead. More likely than not, he’d simply ruin everything, however, and therefore he keeps his hands to himself.

It doesn’t stop him from looking, though.

He’s beautiful, Glaz has to admit he’s handsome with a boyish charm to his lopsided grin, the kind of person who fits neatly into a lot of categories and thus people accept him easily – but he’s even more gorgeous in his head. The _idea_ of him sparks a happiness so vicious Glaz isn’t sure whether he likes it, whether he should get attached to one person this quickly. Even without picturing him in his mind, thinking of him, recalling some of the things they did together, one of their conversations, a compliment he dropped, a suggestion he made, him nodding sympathetically, listening with a shit eating grin, reacting with a glint in his eye, all of it, it’s just -

It means something. Doesn’t it? Maverick is connected to him with a rubber band: no matter where they are, he bounces back to him eventually.

Glaz turns away with a sigh, staring at the ceiling instead of Maverick in case he wakes up. He shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t be doing any of it, definitely shouldn’t let him allow to sleep on or in his bed despite it being more than big enough, shouldn’t look forward to every single interaction this much. He knows how it ends. He’s been there.

But when he notices movement in his peripheral vision and turns his head, he’s met with icy blue eyes, a smile and a soft: “Morning.”

And all Glaz thinks is: _Shit_.

 

~*~

 

The dull base beat of the last club they sought out is still ringing in Glaz’ poor ears and not even the soft tunes coming out of the cab’s radio can drive it away. His head is comfortably light, he himself on the best way to drunk yet not quite there, teetering on the sweet spot where he’s perfectly able to articulate well even though he overenunciates words a little, where he’s developing all sorts of deranged ideas like wanting to see how many women Smoke can hug before one of them notices he’s opened all their bras but doesn’t _indulge_ in them yet, where he’s a little careless and a little direct though not to an alarming level.

Regardless, he’s squished between exactly four people on the back seat belonging to a cabbie who doesn’t give a single flying fuck about road safety and allowed them to board his car with six people in total. It’s cosy and warm additionally to the cosiness and warmth already reigning outside in this lovely summer night. Twitch is riding in the front and making polite conversation with the driver, probably also to distract him from what’s going on in the back, Mute has upgraded to _both_ hands down Smoke’s trousers and Rook is letting out a cutesy giggle over something Blitz murmured into his ear.

Glaz has never sat next to people who were _this_ self-absorbed. Even when Rook was parading his boyfriend of the day, he initiated and participated in conversations nonetheless, so this is definitely on him though Glaz can’t blame him, not when he regularly catches the Frenchman secretly looking after Blitz with such a pure, unguarded smile – they’re happy, that much is obvious, and Rook is so stupidly attached to his boyfriend that alright, he does deserve his private moments. Even if they’re disgustingly sappy and involve a lot of shy kisses and smiles and entirely too many hesitant touches.

And Mute has the best excuse of all, though maybe not _quite_ good enough to warrant sucking on Smoke’s tongue for fifteen minutes straight while basically jerking him off in the presence of four of their friends plus a stoic taxi driver. It’s probably not really what he’s doing but his hands are definitely on Smoke’s cock if the noises he produces are any indication. Smoke’s knee is digging into Glaz’ thigh and it’s only because he’s so short that they’re able to do this at all, have the older man straddle Mute, facing him. Just by observing him for a few minutes, it wouldn’t be obvious he spent several weeks chasing terrorists yet that’s exactly what he did and now he’s back and somehow managed to miss Mute even more than Mute missed him.

Okay. Both of them have their reasons and they’re valid. Glaz should be happy for them. He spent an overall pleasant evening mainly aimed at welcoming Smoke, involving a pub crawl and a visit to a club purely because Twitch refused to throw up by the side of the road for which Smoke mocked her until she ‘accidentally’ stepped on his foot. He enjoyed himself, is grateful for having friends whom he trusts this much and yet -

All he sees are Smoke’s and Mute’s lips pressed together, Blitz’ arm wrapped around Rook’s torso to keep him steady, all of them having someone to smile at and to touch freely, sharing body heat voluntarily and not only because the cab is so bloody cramped, and he doesn’t wish them any less. He doesn’t want to interfere with their contentment.

He just wishes for something similar. And so his heart is heavy and his chest full of nothing, threatening to cave in on itself and suddenly they pass a road he recognises.

“Could you stop here, please?”, he addresses the cabbie politely who just nods and ignores the quite obvious moan originating from Smoke’s throat.

“Where are you going, Glaz?”, Twitch wants to know with furrowed brows, turning around to face him, though her gaze is quickly drawn to the two Brits beside him. “Fuck’s sake, lads, keep it together for ten more minutes!”

“No dice”, Smoke mumbles against Mute’s mouth which stretches into a grin, “thir’y bloody days, luv, I ain’t waitin’ no more, stop yakkin’ and leave us be, ta.”

And while the two exchange increasingly incomprehensible insults (seeing as Smoke’s mouth is otherwise occupied and Twitch is slurring considerably), Glaz herds Blitz and Rook out of the car so he can step onto the pavement himself. They don’t interrupt their hand holding even for a second and Glaz can’t fault them for it. He’d do the same.

“Get home safely, everyone, and good night”, he says and doesn’t wait for an answer before slamming the door shut. The fresh air feels like nectar in his lungs, sweet and promising, and he forces himself not to think too much about his actions. Not until he has to.

 

And this is how he ends up here, now, staring at the dark door illuminated only by a street light, his skin overheated and itching, his thoughts buzzing, hoping for something different this time. Hoping so fiercely it _aches_. Ultimately, not due to his friends’ fault at all though they undeniably contributed to this throbbing in his chest which has transitioned into an odd siren’s call, a need he couldn’t resist even if he tried.

When it comes down to it, Maverick is a private person, will gladly reminisce but focus on other people’s actions instead of his own, never brags, usually prefers letting others talk yet what Glaz does out of shaky confidence and the wish to be accepted, he chooses to do deliberately. As a result, only few other operators know where he lives, he largely refused help when he moved and only gave in when Mute drily pointed out that he doesn’t even own a car. They transported a few necessities to his new flat but haven’t gotten invited since – which suits them just fine seeing as they prefer him staying over in their flat anyway.

There are so many uncertainties, so much which could go wrong and ruin the tentative friendship that has been the main source of Glaz’ happiness recently, so many unknowns and maybes but to Glaz, his hope is a butterfly threatening to take off and disappear any moment now if he doesn’t – doesn’t seize it, but no, that metaphor doesn’t work because don’t butterflies die when touched?

He’s beginning to obsess over this, the stuffy warm air getting to him, clogging his lungs and making him sweat. Does he smell? Should he just leave and come back later, after he’s had a shower and a change of clothes? Thinking back, he can’t remember anyone pouring a drink over him or similar antics, none of the sort, though he must smell of cigarettes regardless.

Nevertheless, his decision was made when he stopped the taxi, he won’t win anything by limping home with his tail tucked between his legs. The world shifts, the floor ripples and still, he reaches out and rings the doorbell seated above a name stuck in his side, making him bleed out very slowly with how deep it’s been driven over time. His skin might have to close over it, heal with it still inside. Or he’ll have to painstakingly remove it under danger of injuring himself further.

It’s the middle of the night. What is he thinking – there’s no way Maverick is up at this hour, why should he be? Or rather, if he is, he’s not going to be home, he really should’ve texted him first instead of felling this spur of the moment decision born from a loneliness amplified by shameless display of desire as much as oblivious showcasing of affection. He should’ve had a wank, probably. Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing here like a dumbass, waiting for something which is never going to happen because there is something fundamentally wrong with him.

The door opens. Glaz didn’t expect it to, didn’t count on suddenly having to face these sharp features and piercing eyes, oddly awake for this hour. “Oh. What are you doing here?”, Maverick asks him, rightfully so, and undoubtedly wouldn’t appreciate Glaz’ internal answer of: _hopefully the right thing_. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t sound accusing, merely curious. As if it was normal to get late night visits by co-workers.

His cheeks are burning at this point, anxiousness taking over and pushing away his previous excitement, souring it to such an extent that his tongue is heavy, his mind slow to respond and his fingers shaking. He has to get it out soon or else he won’t be able to at all. “Erik”, he says. Good beginning, yes, he can build on that. What next? How should he put it into words? How could he ever express the chaos in his heart adequately? With a pounding heart and a dry throat, he adds: “I like you.”

But it’s so much more, isn’t it? It’s the smell of warm cocoa to the tunes of one hit wonders, it’s four guys stretched out on his bed arguing about the rules to Uno, it’s the secrecy behind the sly wink as yet another small objects finds its way into Maverick’s pockets, it’s the bright hot _joy_ at every little compliment. It’s growing, thriving, blooming under Maverick’s gaze. It’s wanting to see his beautiful eyes up close and watch his pupils dilate and contract as the sun rises and sets without them.

“I _really_ like you”, he adds and his voice breaks halfway through, makes it sound pathetic where he meant for it to sound sincere.

The bomb dropped between them, loaded with meaning and uncertainty, doesn’t detonate immediately, doesn’t have any effect at first. Maverick blinks at him, a little lost, a lot surprised, and quite obviously not knowing how to respond. His lips part yet no noise escapes them – but it’d be redundant anyway. The way his face falls speaks volumes, the way his shoulders droop reveals more than words ever could. He manages to convey so much through body language where Glaz failed to disclose even the simplest of impressions in words. Maybe if Maverick knew how light Glaz’ heart gets when their gazes meet across a room, maybe if he could let him know how a mere thought of him chases away stress, maybe then he’d react differently.

Maybe he’d react even more negatively.

“Timur”, he murmurs, visibly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t need to say any more.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry.” He barely hears the words coming out of his own mouth, the roaring of his blood not even the loudest sound occupying his brain for a single thought towers over everything, deafening and disorienting, detrimental to his physical and mental balance, all-encompassing and truly frightening.

 _You fucked up_.

Wouldn’t be the first time, definitely isn’t the last time because he just doesn’t _learn_ , doesn’t want to, gets up each time, dusts himself off and continues as if nothing had happened, as if there were no scrapes and scratches and sometimes broken bones, as if he didn’t know he eventually won’t be able to get back up anymore.

 _You fucked up_.

A little louder for the people in the back, please. He doesn’t think all parts of his body have realised this fact yet seeing as his legs still carry him, his lips are still stretched into a parody of his previous open, hopeful smile, his spine still hasn’t collapsed under the weight of all the consequences. Other parts are faster on the uptake, his heart has long abandoned its usual rhythm, his breathing is shallow and his eyes burning. They know. They all _know_.

_**You fucked up** _ **.**

He did. Because Maverick could’ve been a friend, a confidant, a partner in crime if only his stupid fucking mouth wasn’t so big and constantly saying things his heart feeds it without consulting his brain first. He feels pathetic, especially when he doesn’t turn around quickly enough so Maverick must’ve seen how crestfallen, how destroyed he looks.

“Timur, wait.” Paying no heed to the words, he keeps walking away, repeating his mantra over and over again, can’t wait to get back home and crawl into bed and be allowed to be miserable and cry himself to sleep. Maybe no one will notice, he can tell them he went for a midnight snack or thought he saw a puppy or anything. Except for Mute, he doesn’t think anyone knows about – about how much -

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, warm even through the fabric of his t-shirt. He stops, angrily wipes away the wet trails on his cheeks. He doesn’t turn around. The hand doesn’t push or pull him. “Timur. Can we talk about this?”

“What”, he starts to reply but his voice refuses to obey him, shakes, sounds pitiful. Do they have to do this _now_?

“I need to – what does this mean?”

Is he serious? What even is he asking? Outraged, he faces the American and doesn’t know what he expected, but it’s not this, not this confused and hurt expression as if _Glaz_ was the one who turned _him_ down. He attempts an answer but all which leaves his throat is a hapless sob, as if the situation wasn’t already mortifying enough.

“Don’t – don’t touch me, okay?”, Maverick murmurs and then inexplicably embraces him, entirely at odds with his words but Glaz understands when his arms, instinctively raised to return to the hug, get pushed back down decisively. Maybe he doesn’t want him to taint him or anything. In that moment only self-destructive, hateful sentiments find a place in his heart, blacken the bright, lively feeling usually accompanying him in Maverick’s presence, and so it registers only much too late that Maverick rarely lets anyone touch him.

And still, he’s holding Glaz close right now, a hand in his hair, the other stroking over his back, and he smells like himself, body warm and reassuring. Glaz feels himself relaxing into it despite everything in him screaming he doesn’t deserve it, it won’t last, it’s maybe only meant to stop him from crying so Maverick doesn’t have to feel bad. It doesn’t matter. They’re still hugging.

It takes a while, but once Glaz’ sniffles have subsided, he’s about to withdraw again to save at least _some_ of his dignity when a loud noise makes them both jump. A glance confirms the only source of the noise. “Your door fell shut”, he mumbles into Maverick’s shoulder, still shaky but much better than before.

“Yeah”, comes the quiet reply, seemingly unbothered.

“Do you have a key with you?”

“No.” A short pause, during which Maverick squeezes him before taking a step back and regarding his apartment door pensively. “But I’m an excellent lock pick.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Glaz has no energy left to be embarrassed anymore and openly rubs his face to get rid of the last salty moisture clinging to his skin. He feels empty, devoid of anything including the soul-crushing sadness which threatened to smash his heart earlier. It would be an odd relief, if relief was something he was capable of feeling at that moment.

“I need the right tools for it though.” The other man scratches his head.

Glaz heaves a sigh and turns around once more. “I’ll call a cab, come on.”

“Your flat is only, what, thirty minutes away, no? Can’t we just walk?”

Maverick is barefoot and wearing nothing but pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. “You want to walk without shoes?”

“I want to talk to you.”

Trepidation returns, not exactly the emotion Glaz was looking forward to revisiting the most. It doesn’t seem like the American is judging him, however, has so far made no indication to treat him any less. Maybe he should listen to what he has to say. “Alright”, he agrees finally, sniffling once more before falling in step with Maverick, carefully keeping his gaze directed to the floor so he’s not a _completely_ open book.

“I’ve not been in this situation before.” He’s struggling, clearly trying to find the right words. Glaz appreciates it because he doesn’t think it’s done out of calculation but rather a desire to not hurt him – well, not hurt him any more. “Not only that – that a man is… but also someone with whom I’ll have to keep working.”

Oh, is that what this is? Damage control? His lips press together in silent disapproval.

“No. A _friend_.” They keep walking silently for a while. “I like you, Timur. As a person. And I’m sorry I don’t like you the same way, but I _still_ like you.” The sentiment is unexpected. Glaz is used to being discarded, not… whatever this is. “I need to know what this means. Do I have to stop talking to you?”

“Do you not want to talk to me anymore?”, he asks back meekly.

“Of course I want to keep talking, I enjoy your company. I just – I can’t reciprocate what you feel. But I still don’t want anything to change.”

This is a first and it startles Glaz into speechlessness. Normally, this is where it all ends – he confesses, gets shot down and either it sparks a series of humiliating taunts and hurtful, snide remarks, or the person wants to get away from him as soon as possible. Never before has anyone wanted to talk it through, stay friends with him, even kept _touching_ him. He’s used to people flinching away like he has the plague. Rook already did wonders to his confidence in that his demeanour towards him didn’t change the slightest and Mute even became friendlier somehow, but Glaz was never really interested in either of them. Well, except for Rook until he realised the younger man didn’t really have his life together either. They wouldn’t have been happy.

“Me neither”, he admits quietly. It’s the second best thing – if he can’t have Maverick, he at least doesn’t want to fully lose him, be deprived of a friend he’s only just made. Remaining friends is the better alternative to cutting him out of his life, he’s convinced of this. At this point, he barely sees where they’re going, trusts in Maverick to lead them the correct way. “We can just pretend none of this happened. It’s okay. I’ll get over it.” And he decisively pushes away all thoughts of Fuze, of how his heart still beats faster when they touch. He has nothing to do with this. It’s completely different.

“Yeah?” Something in Maverick’s voice makes him actually look over for the first time since they began walking and he’s met with a vulnerable, uncertain expression. He’s indeed looking for confirmation, as if he needed Glaz’ explicit approval to ignore his feelings in favour of staying friends and therefore he nods, tries to look reassuring. He doesn’t want Maverick to worry. “Alright.” They keep walking, the American stepping carefully, avoiding glass shards and preferring to tread on small grass patches whenever possible. His next words are so quiet they almost don’t register: “I just don’t know how this works.”

On a limb, Glaz guesses: “No one has ever confessed to you before?” The deer in headlights look tells him all he needs to know. “That surprises me. I would’ve thought people were all over you.” Then again, Maverick is often vaguely reserved when talking to others – not towards Glaz’ group, but pretty much everyone else. It’s possible he knows that he’ll only get accepted by Glaz’ friends if he comes across as genuine which doesn’t matter as much with others. It’s hard to tell when he’s trying to manipulate others subtly and when he isn’t.

“No, not at all.” Maverick’s hesitating and it soon becomes clear why. “Don’t tell anyone this, alright?”

“Over my dead body”, Glaz replies and means it. He’s the last person he’d tell on.

“I’ve never had – never really got the chance to, you know…” He sounds embarrassed and tries a different approach. “My parents were extremely strict, in the army I barely had the time or opportunity, and in Kabul it’s -”

“You never had a relationship?”

Maverick seems relieved he doesn’t have to be the one saying it. “No. In Kabul, it would’ve been impossible with local women, potentially dangerous but at the very least stigmatised, and even with tourists or other American or European visitors it would’ve been extremely awkward. I would’ve had to marry. So I’m sorry if I don’t know how to react.”

This explains a few things, among them Maverick’s seeming obliviousness to other people’s relationships: it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realise Mute wasn’t simply missing his best friend. Admittedly, Smoke is _also_ his best friend but so much more additionally. “No, it’s fine”, Glaz assures him and is thoroughly relieved that despite being inexperienced, Maverick fells no hasty judgement, instead asks for a clear explanation of what he’s expected to do, what Glaz would like him to do. “It really is. I’m used to worse.”

He feels a curious gaze on him. “What about you?”

“Relationships? I’ve had a few.” Under other circumstances, he’d leave it at that but Maverick already laid himself bare before him. “One lasted no more than a few weeks because he was scared of his family or friends finding out. One was lovely, but had to be broken up because I left for Rainbow. It wouldn’t have lasted anyway, but at the very least longer otherwise. And another… was bad.”

A sympathetic nod he didn’t expect at all – not after Maverick revealed how little he knows. He assumes it’s politeness until he hears his next words: “Yeah. I don’t mean to compare, but I had – there was a bad experience too.”

Something in Maverick’s words makes him frown, conveys a different kind of quality compared to Glaz’ own, making him think it was somehow a lot worse than an abusive relationship. The thought frightens him. “I’m sorry”, he replies quietly.

“Don’t tell anyone about this either”, Maverick adds more as an afterthought, seemingly so at ease with Glaz that the prospect of him spreading the word didn’t even enter his head at first. “And it’s alright, I don’t normally think of it.”

Glaz supposes this is linked with Maverick’s aversion to being touched, it being the symptom and the recent revelation the cause. He vows not to pry, to be more careful around him, ask for permission, try to gauge what he’s okay with in case he can’t do so explicitly. And yet he remembers how Maverick didn’t jerk away at him touching his tattoo, at the hug they exchanged after their early morning baking session. Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, he’s not for the first time overcome with the desire to touch, even more so now that he knows he can’t, shouldn’t. There must be some residual alcohol in his blood, leaving him braver than normal because he asks: “Can I hold your hand?”

Excuses are threatening to bubble over his lips when Maverick turns his head towards him – emotional support, maybe, or curiosity, a simple wish, none of which he’d get away with – and the urge to backpedal is overwhelming until the American wordlessly reaches out and offers the requested body part willingly, waits until Glaz has caught up to him and even spreads his fingers so he can push his own in between. His skin is warm and dry and his grip firm and Glaz feels blood rushing to his cheeks at the contact, the innocent-seeming gesture. But it’s so much more.

He’s not being pushed away. His heart swells at how naturally Maverick holds on to him, not at all put off or disgusted, without any hesitation or awkwardness and maybe it’s not only Glaz himself who needs this physical display of sympathy to feel more at ease. Even so, his pulse remains fast as they make their way through deserted streets, the occasional car passing by, not stopping for the odd pair. Being allowed to openly touch this man is a privilege as he’s learnt, and the knowledge makes him giddy, hopeful and exactly as excited as – as Fuze did whenever he touched him, as Rook’s undivided attention did once, as Sledge’s calm compliments and -

“Has it only been men for you?”, Maverick breaks the silence Glaz perceived as increasingly uncomfortable over time seeing as he has to adjust whenever his companion switches to the footpath or the street, but the nonchalant tone of voice reveals that Maverick himself was merely pensive, not at all preoccupied with whether Glaz’ hand was sweaty or whether he should let go any second. No, it appears Glaz was alone in these thoughts. He affirms and thus prompts another question from his companion: “How did you know?”

From what he’s gathered, Maverick is straight and hasn’t once entertained the notion of being with another man – looking back, it was only gay relationships which seemed to baffle him, affection between men which made his forehead crease. Briefly, Glaz considers providing an honest reply with all details included: the alien sense of being different in school, the many conversations in which he merely nodded along without being able to relate, the acute awareness of being _other_. When he was young, he couldn’t put his finger on it though some adults’ behaviour led him to believe there was something wrong with his head which later turned out to be accurate, there _was_ something horribly wrong with his entire body even because it longed for the touch of the dark-haired boy next to whom he sat in art class instead of doing what it was supposed to. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t change this part about himself, no matter how much grief it caused, and eventually he accepted that it wouldn’t go away.

But conveying all this confusion and anger and hurt would not only drain him but also reduce him to a victim in a way, might inspire pity where he’s been trying to convince himself he doesn’t need any, needs nothing more than quiet tolerance to stop shrinking away, stop hiding, stop excusing himself, switching topics, lie, avoid – and besides, he knows there’s a beautiful side to it all, has experienced it before, the elating press of lips on lips, the divine feeling of loving and being loved. It’s complex and vibrant, neither fully one nor the other yet certainly too intricate to put into no more than a few words.

“I just did”, he responds softly. It sounds flat to his own ears, so he adds: “I’ve only ever been attracted to men.” Of course there was plenty of doubt, too, thinking – hoping – it might be a phase.

“I’m not sure if I’ve been attracted to anyone”, Maverick states and Glaz wishes he could show him, make him feel what he feels: the full extent of combined anticipation and disillusionment, fluttering followed by loneliness, fierce joy and bottomless agony. He’ll be angry at himself in quiet moments, blame himself when he needs to be sleeping instead, but Maverick’s presence will chase all of it away, arouse all-encompassing bliss and elevate him back up only so he can tumble back down later. Regretfully, he withdraws his hand. Maybe it’ll take less than a year this time.

“You probably will be eventually”, he says and knows he’d rather die than watch the blonde pursue someone else.

 

When they arrive at the flat, Glaz’ wistful mood has largely dissipated, aided by conversation which gradually became less tentative while both of them slowly realised Glaz’ confession didn’t have to change anything between them if they refused to let it. They walked closely, exchanged gentle questions and replies and furthered mutual understanding, and as horrible as it was to get rejected after building up his courage, Glaz vows to try and do his best to get over it. Maverick is an excellent listener and an attentive friend – and he even gets along well with Mute and Rook, so he has the potential of spending most of his free time at their apartment were he so inclined. Looking back, Glaz feels foolish to have endangered their friendship in the first place, allowed his feelings to get in the way; clearly it’s more beneficial to stay a set distance away, bottle everything up and bask in Maverick’s presence.

Someone was thoughtful enough to turn on the fairy lights in the corridor, a residue from the time Rook half-ironically decorated their flat with everything he acquired at the cheapest deco store he could find. Most of it landed in the trash and Mute proceeded to buy supplies only for dishes Rook couldn’t stand for a week, yet some of the chain lights survived the purge. The ones in the hallway especially turned out to be helpful as they provide soft shadows and a low glimmer bright enough to light someone’s path to the toilet but not blinding enough to rip them out of their sleepy half-doze. Right now, they’re a godsend because they hide Glaz’ burning face – a result of a cheeky remark probably made under the mistaken assumption Glaz wouldn’t be so easily flustered – and allow Maverick to find his way to the bathroom so he can wash his feet.

A peek into the central living room lets Glaz know that Twitch didn’t make it home after all and instead collapsed haphazardly on the couch, meaning…

“Do you want me to call you a cab now?”, Glaz asks in a stage whisper as to not wake anyone up after he’s closed the bathroom door behind him, watching Maverick rest his forehead on the cool tiles as if he’d been the one who went out for drinks earlier this night. He’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub and wasting precious warm water by letting it flow directly down the drain instead of utilising it.

“I think I’m too tired to even crawl to the sofa”, comes the drowsy response, justified by a wide yawn. “I was still up when you came over and it’s catching up to me.”

At least he didn’t wake him up then. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“No, I just don’t like sleeping. I avoid it whenever I can.”

It’s said so casually but Glaz knows the tone of voice, has heard it from a variety of people before, including Bandit, Vigil, Thatcher… “The couch is already taken anyway, so you’re in luck. I’ll let you sleep in my bed if you ask nicely.”

Either something gave him away or Maverick is now evaluating things differently, but the nonchalant comment earns him the American’s full attention. “Is that alright with you? Can I do that?”

They’ve done it before, several times, and not once has Maverick uttered any objections. It’s probably meant sympathetically but it _hurts_ at the same time, awakens a few of his fears which up till now were merely simmering in the back of his mind. Maverick shouldn’t feel required to tiptoe around him, hold back for his sake, no, this is the kind of thing which erodes trust over time, sows doubts. Glaz supposes it’s inevitable despite his friend’s assurance nothing would change but he’s vaguely disappointed nonetheless. He hopes casual touches won’t prompt instinctive jerking away, hopes friendly compliments won’t die out, hopes Maverick reliably returning to him to talk won’t happen in intervals which almost imperceptibly become longer and longer. 

“Of course”, he replies curtly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything before, so I won’t do anything now.” Momentary irritation, mostly at himself, drips from his words though he’s immediately ashamed of his small outbreak, more so when Maverick’s features soften.

“I didn’t mean to imply -”

And Glaz has to leave. For once, it’s compassion suffocating him and not barely concealed dismay – it’ll be a while until he’s learnt to suppress the fierce urge to sink into the American’s kindness like a welcoming embrace and possibly end up doing something stupid, for right now it’s unbearable. He’s behaving childishly, blaming someone else for his inability to control his own feelings and just needs to take a breath somewhere that’s not in Maverick’s presence.

As a distraction, he makes a short detour to the living room to ensure Twitch is alright and finds his suspicions confirmed: Rook keeps forgetting his female teammate gets cold easily despite all the warmth she spreads, and so Glaz adds another blanket to the softly snoring bundle of joy on their sofa. The action calms him, as does the thought _what would Manu advise me to do?_

Probably to stay calm, not let intrusive thoughts take over, stop assuming the worst. Maverick hasn’t given him any indication of distancing himself, quite the opposite. He’s confided in him and met his confession with much more understanding and compassion than Glaz ever could’ve hoped for. He needs to stop worrying.

Heartened, he pads into his room while leaving the door open as a wordless invitation, strips down to his boxer briefs and throws on a less smelly t-shirt before climbing into bed. During the brief silence between lying down and Maverick leaving the bathroom to join him, he notices soft noises coming from next door and can’t help but smile. They must not have heard them come home, or maybe they did but are too caught up in each other.

Maverick follows his lead and doesn’t shut the door behind him either, just like the previous times he stayed over, and though the bitter part of Glaz wants to misconstrue it as a signal to his flatmates that there’s nothing indecent happening between them, he knows it’s pure habit. The yawn accompanying Maverick as he slips under the covers next to Glaz, as usual not touching him, is contagious, making Glaz miss half of what his friend murmurs next.

“Hm?”

“I said I’m sorry. I never once thought you would – _do_ anything. It seems I’ll have to learn, I want to respect your feelings without coming across as -”

“Erik.” Glaz turns to the other man, propping his head up and searching his face in the faint light falling in from the street, cool and white yet oddly flattering nonetheless: it seems to caress Maverick’s face, contour it gently and reflect in his downward cast eyes which flit over to meet Glaz’ now and then. “Thank you. But you have to trust me to tell you if anything is not okay.”

It’s counter-intuitive and yet Maverick is the one left with a vulnerable expression displaying doubt, hope, confusion. His passive body language betrays none of his thoughts but his face divulges all and hits Glaz unexpectedly: the American is worried about losing him. Someone wants Glaz to be part of his life so much that he fails to hide it and it’s – it’s an uncommon sensation. At best, Glaz feels like a sidekick and at worst like an extra in the lives of those around him, a persistent impression he’s never managed to shake entirely. Even with his friends, with Rook and Mute and Twitch, now and then he idly wonders why they like him as much as they apparently do. And now Maverick wants to keep him this adamantly?

His heart throbs and the blood rushing in his ears distracts him from Maverick’s tentative agreement. He rolls on his back again more automatically than as a conscious action and basks in the sensation of being liked – by someone who could choose to spend his time with almost anyone else, no less. It’s brilliant and tingling and maybe, just maybe, it’s an adequate replacement for his cul-de-sac infatuation.

Lost in his own thoughts and ever-growing happiness, he at first is unable to process the words uttered a few minutes later: “What are those noises?”

Glaz snorts when he understands to what the older man is referring. “Mark and James. I don’t think they’ve been apart for this long before.”

Scandalised silence. Glaz turns to his friend and finds him furrowing his brows intently. “Are you – what are they -”

“With how quiet they are, James is on top. If it was Mark, he’d be an animal.”

His statement apparently contains too much information for Maverick whose eyes widen at something which is _definitely_ a muffled moan and Glaz wants nothing more than to lean into him and dissolve the tension with a laugh, but resolves to be content with what he has. Shared body heat under the same blanket is enough for now, as is dozing off to the proof of just how much the two teammates missed each other, to the slowly deepening breaths beside him and the pounding of his own heart.

 

When the person next to him sits up abruptly, Glaz gets yanked back into the land of the conscious. At first, he assumes the reason to be a nightmare and Maverick has startled awake, but he seems calm other than the sudden motion – and the longer Glaz thinks back, the more convinced he becomes that he was only asleep for a few minutes. The light outside hasn’t changed and so hasn’t anything else.

“What is it?”, he asks drowsily and rubs his eye.

“They’re still -”, Maverick begins to answer but breaks off, fidgeting with the sheets, his clothes, his hair. His restless tossing and turning has disrupted Glaz’ attempts to sleep for a while before he finally drifted away and it seems the other man hasn’t gotten a minute of rest ever since they laid down. “I can’t sleep like this.”

 _Next to me?_ , that voice in Glaz almost prompts him to ask but he catches himself last second. It takes him a bit to understand. “Just ignore them. Aren’t you tired?”

“They’ve been… for _so long_ already, what – how do they -”

“You can shut the door if you want.”

“It’s through the wall too, isn’t it?”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” The possibility of the noises triggering bad memories for Maverick instantly has Glaz looking for alternatives: knocking on Mute’s door to ask them to keep it down, carrying Twitch to his room and letting Maverick have the couch, calling a cab after all.

Yet it seems his worries are misplaced, the American doesn’t act disturbed, or at least not in _that_ way. When he declines, he also furtively looks down and… he might have a very different problem. The reality of it hits Glaz like a truck and leaves him reeling, up till now he hasn’t even considered Maverick in that context, denied himself these kinds of thoughts entirely and limited himself to imagining what his mouth tastes like, how his body feels in Glaz’ arms, which of the two would fit better curled around the other one. Now this, _this_ , is yet another test for his patience it seems, another challenge he has to face: fighting back against the impulse to reach out or suggest something wholly inappropriate.

“It’ll go away by itself if you wait”, he offers politely and actively keeps his eyes up, refusing to let them wander.

Maverick’s lips twitch in bit-back thoughts, his fingers curl and it’s probably the most unaware Glaz has ever seen him. Normally, he’s careful and deliberate in the way he carries himself and does it so successfully that this fact barely gets acknowledged, but now none of his movements seem deliberate. “It hasn’t so far”, he whispers.

Glaz wants to assist him so badly he has to bite his tongue until it hurts enough to drive away the phrases threatening to spill out of his mouth. “You can go take care of it if you want. Better than not sleeping.”

“Is it weird?”

And what he’s really asking is: _am I weird?_ Glaz shakes his head. “No, Erik. It’s not weird at all.” The other man still sits stiffly and unmoving, so he adds: “I was the same at first, it’s not weird.”

“Yeah, but you’re -”

“Mark is like a brother to me and I once watched James blend a Happy Meal, drink and all, and eat the whole thing for twenty bucks.” Maverick lets out a relieved laugh and Glaz secretly thanks Smoke for providing excellent material to shift the atmosphere into something less smothering. “It’s a pretty normal reaction, so don’t worry. You can – you can go, if you think it’ll… work.”

With a sigh, the American sinks back onto the mattress and not-so-secretly adjusts his crotch inside his underwear which finally draws all of Glaz’ attention. He’s – he’s visibly aroused, erection feebly straining against the fabric covering it and despite telling himself he wouldn’t, Glaz pictures himself touching it, running his fingertips over the hard shaft… and the next moment his friend pulls the blanket back up and it’s gone. He’s light-headed.

“That would definitely be too weird, I mean, you’d know that I’m – and I don’t think I could -”

Logic eludes him, just like common decency. The tip of his tongue itches and so do his fingers; he has to swallow before replying because his mouth inexplicably has started watering. “I don’t judge, I’d never – if you want, I can listen to some music so you know I’m not -”

Their half-sentences and helpless verbal flailing is leading them nowhere fast, Maverick is getting increasingly flustered and so is Glaz, though for entirely different reasons. They’re both frustrated with the situation and unsure which course of action to take, which one would be the least awkward and embarrassing, and Glaz can still see the bulge outlined by the street lamp – hell, at this point he can basically _feel_ it in his hand. He’s very much in the same state now, all their talking and saying nothing is drawing more and more attention to the fact how enticing Maverick is when he’s hot and bothered; it’s undignified and therefore utterly adorable, he seems completely out of his depth which is unprecedented. This detail convinces Glaz to take the lead for once, pushes him to suggest something selfish and not concern himself with the consequences first.

“What if I do it too?”

They still.

“How does that help me?”, Maverick wants to know after an uncomfortably long pause and lets out a small laugh because surely, Glaz is joking. Only he’s not. And strangely enough, he doesn’t get the feeling of overstepping boundaries.

“Then it won’t be as awkward. You’re not alone.” Once again, silence befalls the room for a while during which Glaz takes measured breaths, keeps his eyes on the ceiling as to not scare Maverick away, and _hopes_. He hopes so viciously it’s nigh impossible to keep quiet, not tack on a speech about how reasonable his idea is – he’s said his part, now he has to wait for his friend to reply.

“Are you also…?”

 _Now I definitely am_ , Glaz thinks but doesn’t say out loud. “Is it okay with you?”

He could look, could try to interpret Maverick’s expression in the forgiving light from outside, but instead he allows him the necessary time to ask himself the same question Glaz just posed. And it pays off. “Yeah”, comes a meek response which makes all of Glaz’ limbs turn into butter.

Slowly he pushes the blanket down so only their feet are covered, slowly he wiggles out of his underwear and very, very slowly, he wraps his fingers around his eager member. He’s undeterred by the fact that Maverick has basically stopped breathing and yet makes no move to follow suit, honour the agreement they just entered. Still, it’s Glaz’ belief that he will.

Touching himself next to his hopeless crush is a new experience – usually, there’s either no distance between them or he’s doing it while his partner undresses or prepares himself or Glaz, but it’s always something _shared_. This is an odd mix of painfully intimate since he’s taking a giant leap, showing Maverick something he wouldn’t show almost anyone else, and weirdly distant. He doesn’t think the American is going to touch him or even scoot a tad closer so their arms are pressed against each other, it’s all _him_. The hot flesh in his fist jumps at his first tentative caresses, happy to receive much-needed attention, happy with Maverick’s proximity.

He stops when there’s rustling beside him, accompanied by self-conscious movement, and then he _looks_. Glaz has never felt so helpless, so wholly at someone else’s mercy because when Maverick imitates his grip, Glaz feels the touch so keenly as if his friend’s hand had replaced his own. Without realising, he copies the cautious strokes and notices his toes curling at the piercing sensation – it shouldn’t be this arousing yet it _is_ , a sharp pang of lust on every upstroke, a wave of desire rolling through him on every downstroke. They’re both pleasuring themselves but what should be an individual affair melts together in Glaz’ senses, tricks them and causes him to believe it’s _him_ making Maverick’s breath hitch.

The ferocious need accumulated decidedly too quickly forces him to pause and consciously step back from the edge to which he’s been pushed embarrassingly fast. Everything about Maverick is too erotic, from his lithe body stretching out on the mattress to him licking his palm to reduce friction. The controlled way in which he stimulates himself is everything and nothing like Glaz imagined, nothing because he definitely never thought about it before, everything because it suits him and his mindfulness, how calculating he is in all aspects of his life.

But the longer it goes on, the more Glaz’ dissatisfaction grows, a small, dangerous thing caused by Maverick’s closed eyelids and increasingly oblivious expression, his soft panting rising in volume and his increasing speed. He’s probably somewhere else in his mind. And Glaz doesn’t like it. Where he is entirely focused on the American, Maverick in turn seems more and more self-absorbed, and so Glaz whispers his name while letting his hand lazily travel up and down, keeping him on a safe plateau of pleasure _just_ far enough from climax that he won’t tip over unexpectedly.

Maverick takes a shuddering breath and his grip tightens; yet another gesture with which Glaz empathises, feeling it in his _teeth_. “What?”, he whispers, opening his eyes but refraining from meeting Glaz’ intense stare.

He doesn’t know what he wants – or rather, he knows what he _wants_ but not how to ask for it. Invading his friend’s personal space is out of the question and almost anything he would like to do right now is going too far, even if it’s just a kiss. And oh God, kissing him right now would undoubtedly finish him off right then and there.

Then he notices something, however. And it’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself: “Can I hold your hand again?”

They’re using different hands, it’s only a matter of reaching out, crossing the gap between their bodies which might as well be a ravine with how inaccessible Maverick is, but Glaz is confident enough to just do it.

Maverick’s gaze is scorching. It holds Glaz’ for a few seconds, unreadable, then slips lower out of curiosity, leaving behind a burning trail. When Glaz massages his erection a little, making it twitch, Maverick starts chewing on his lip. He doesn’t know what the American is thinking, can’t interpret anything he’s doing at all seeing as his brain is muddled and Maverick is fantastic at keeping his emotions to himself so it could really be anything, anything at all, he might be getting terrifically turned on by the display and Glaz would never know and Maverick would never tell him, but at least he’s not looking away, he’s _staring_ and continuing his light strokes and still with his lower lip between his teeth and then -

Then he pushes his unoccupied hand a little in Glaz’ direction, palm up and fingers spread.

Once more, Glaz slides his own into Maverick’s hand, suppresses a shudder and almost _whines_ in powerless longing when it’s grabbed tightly, whether as support or seeking validation itself, out of pity or sympathy or purely because he’s caught up in the moment, it doesn’t matter. Because they’re both holding on, connected, unwilling to let go and relinquish this warmth which is amplified manifold.

Maverick comes first, under Glaz’ watchful eye he tenses, arches, gasps and it’s the most beautiful thing Glaz has ever witnessed. Fingers dig into the back of his palm and only add to the sudden rush of desire which catapults him over the edge almost without him realising – at first, he wonders whether he really can feel everything Maverick is feeling, but then overwhelming relief crashes over him in a familiar yet unusually strong sensation. It’s dizzying how good it feels, completely guilt-free, aided by the hand in his, the knowledge that Maverick also came in his presence – it’s light, and if he didn’t know better he’d think he was weightless.

He expected to be overcome with remorse or at the very least embarrassment, if not shame, but none of it rears its ugly head, no, instead he feels like laughing. Here he is, Maverick’s bony arm awkwardly pressing into his, both of them having ejaculated on their bellies while holding hands, prompted by his friends’ inability to have sex quietly, and he feels better than he has in weeks, fighting against the urge to giggle or make an inappropriate comment.

He’ll be fine. No matter what, he’ll be alright. And this time, he genuinely believes it.

When glancing over at his neighbour, the slightly dazed look on Maverick’s face makes him grin which in turn causes his friend to frown. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m just -” He trails off as he doesn’t want to have a sudden fit, squeezes Maverick’s hand a last time and withdraws to push his sweaty hair back.

“That was… a _little_ weird”, the American murmurs and that’s it, Glaz quietly loses it at the content yet simultaneously worried tone of his voice, shakes in silent laughter and prompts a chuckle in return.

“Yeah”, he agrees once he can breathe again, “it was. There are tissues on the nightstand, if you could just…?”

And though they get cleaned up in silence, it’s a comfortable one, neither of them jerk back when their legs brush, both of them try and fail to lob the dirty tissues into the bin and exchange a smile, and when they’ve put their briefs back on and snuggled back under the blanket, Glaz is confident that they both feel a lot better than before.

 

The kitchen is in utter chaos the next morning, the noise level surprisingly high considering the majority of them were piss drunk the night before, but Glaz doesn’t let any of it deter him. He invited Maverick to stay for breakfast but as his friend had to get ready for work at his place, Glaz merely ended up lending him a few pieces of clothing and sent him off, though not without a hug initiated by the American. Especially after all that happened, it’s incredibly heartening to know Maverick still feels reassured enough to touch him and showcase his friendly affection – and if Glaz enjoyed the feel of the slim, sweatpants-clad figure in his arms a little too much, he won’t dwell on it.

Maybe something like last night will happen again, maybe it won’t. Either is fine with him, he’s open for more but not desperate to force it. And he feels good.

When he enters the kitchen with a smile on his lips, he’s greeted by a predictable mess: Smoke and Mute are standing by the stove, Smoke apparently trying to impress his boyfriend by flipping eggs without a spatula as well as dropping smartass remarks into the general conversation, though he’s missing the very obvious fact that Mute literally couldn’t care any less about the stupid eggs as he instead seems helplessly enamoured with Smoke regardless of what he’s doing. Twitch is busy with pushing as many bendy straws together as possible to create an insanely long one, with Rook watching her with the same kind of awe Smoke probably would like to inspire in Mute now and then, and Blitz is sitting opposite the two French children and looks decidedly pained. Additionally, everyone is largely covered in flour.

“I’m fairly sure the longest straw you can still drink from is ten metres”, Twitch states distractedly and almost pokes Blitz in the eye with her monstrosity, “so with each of these being about twenty centimetres…”

“You need at least ten”, Rook cuts in excitedly and produces a cloud of white powder while reaching out to steady the plastic. “How many is it? Fifty?”

“It’s five hundred”, Blitz chimes in with a sigh.

“Of course! You’re so smart, mon cœur, I bet you do your own taxes.”

“That must be your worst compliment yet”, Smoke comments, amused, and manages to flip three fried eggs onto a plate without ruining them. “Look, babe, I’m the fucking best! They’re perfect.”

“ _You’re_ perfect”, Mute murmurs and somehow makes it sound like an insult before dragging the other man in and starting to noisily cover him in kisses. They’re not normally this openly affectionate but Glaz supposes Smoke’s absence is enough of an excuse.

“I’m gonna throw up again if you lovebirds keep this up”, Twitch threatens seriously. This is when Glaz relieves Smoke of the plate of eggs he was holding out unsteadily to save it from Mute’s onslaught and takes a seat next to Blitz.

“Didn’t you guys agree not to do cocaine again without inviting me?”, Glaz wants to know innocently and makes Rook snort.

“You know how James still doesn’t know where our plates are despite basically living here for half the time? And you know how we bought too much flour so we had to stack it in the overhead cupboard?”

“Maybe he did it on purpose because he missed winter”, Glaz suggests politely.

At this, Twitch looks up to squint at him suspiciously. Especially around her older teammates, she behaves very ladylike and as if she was the reasonable one, yet when she’s left to her own devices or finds herself in their company, she’s even worse than Rook – Glaz is always amused by watching her transform around Doc, Lion or Montagne, knowing she could turn around any minute to drink Mark under the table. Regardless, she remains attentive and empathetic no matter which role she’s playing and so Glaz enjoys the occasional private conversation with her in which they share observations and speculations. However, her vigilance has turned against him previously and it seems to do so right now as well. “Aren’t you chipper this morning”, she states. “Don’t tell me you also got laid, you were my only hope.”

“I didn’t, no.” He’s fairly sure he didn’t, he doesn’t think it counts as… as anything, really. Maybe. He’s not quite sure.

“Then what were you doing last night?”

Glaz pokes one of the fried eggs and watches as yolk seeps out of the holes, creating a vibrant puddle on the plate. “I talked to Erik”, he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Mute stopping his eagerly received kisses and turning to look at him. Twitch’s fingers have paused as well. “I confessed to him.” His breakfast is still bleeding out and he’s still watching it, remembering how his confession went.

“Oh, I didn’t know he was interested in men”, Blitz pipes up conversationally and Mute shoots him a glare so dark it must feel like a slap to the face.

“He’s not”, Rook corrects his boyfriend quietly, making Glaz smile and shake his head.

“No, you’re very right. He’s not. I probably should’ve inquired about that first.”

“I’m so sorry, hun.” Twitch carelessly casts aside the straws on which she’d been working so diligently and reaches over the table to cover his hand with hers. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s -” He doesn’t know how to put it. “- it’s fine, don’t worry. A bit weird, maybe. But he’s fine with staying friends and so am I, so nothing will change.” Telling his friends cements it in his mind, makes it strangely official, even if he doesn’t know which part of _no change at all_ needs to be notarised or whom he needs to convince.

“So why are you this happy then?”, Smoke wants to know curiously and for once, the way he leans into Mute’s casual embrace like it’s his natural place to be doesn’t spark anything negative in Glaz’ chest.

“Because he likes me a lot and our friendship is really important to him too. It’s just nice.” None of the others reply, Blitz possibly refraining from responding to be on the safe side. It’s almost as if they _know_ there’s more to it and maybe Twitch heard something, so it might be best just to admit to what happened. “He also stayed over again and we, uh…” Glaz makes an unambiguous gesture which causes a collective raising of eyebrows, making his cheeks darken. “Not each other, just – it didn’t mean anything, but – he held my hand, and it was… it was nice.” He deflates under the cumulative weight of everyone’s doubtful expressions and gives up on trying to explain the connection he felt to Maverick; a connection running deeper than his other friendships and yet possessing a very different quality to a relationship.

“Great”, Mute breaks the stunned silence eventually. “Good for you, mate. I suppose it’s rare, getting rejected and then a handjob by one and the same bloke in one night.”

“It wasn’t -”, Glaz starts to defend himself but Smoke and Twitch both call Mute’s name, exchange a few pointed looks with him and end up dragging him out of the room.

“I like Erik”, Rook announces good-naturedly once they’re gone. “So I’m happy that you’ll stay friends. I hope it all works out for you.”

Glaz looks down at the massacre on his plate and nods. “Yeah. Me too.”


End file.
